Pets - grace grits and gardening

Miss Suzy

September 28, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

For six months a squirrel made her home in our eaves, gaining access up the crepe myrtle ladder and through a rotted board. I named her Miss Suzy.

As Lucy and Annabelle pulled me down the driveway for our daily walks, Miss Suzy often poked her head through the hole watching us from above. Sometimes she spit bits of pink insulation down on us, chattering and yammering, clearly upset we were disturbing her nap. Or trespassing near her stash of nuts.

Finally, we replaced the wood, evicting her before she moved into the spare bedroom.

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite books was Miss Suzy by Miriam Young and Arnold Lobel. If you aren’t familiar with it, Miss Suzy was a gray squirrel who lived in the tip, tip, top of a tall oak tree. She liked to cook, she liked to clean, and she liked to sing while she worked….

Her life was fantastic until a band of six red squirrels took over her home, chasing her away. On a stormy night, she moved into the attic of an old house, into a beautiful dollhouse no longer enjoyed as the little girl had grown up and moved away. To Washington DC… (my words).

My mother read this book to me over and over and over every day. I can recite the words today. And, of course, I still have my copy of Miss Suzy (first edition, copyright 1964, Parents’ Magazine Press.) The pictures are art, the pages heavy and matte, significant.

I’m not sure where Texas Miss Suzy is living now – maybe back in the tip, tip, top of a tall live oak tree with her firefly lamps and acorn cups, where she belongs. But I know where she likes to spend her afternoons – in our backyard, her new home base for nut gathering. We catch her digging holes in the potted plants, the plants that have barely survived the summer. She jumps from the trees onto the fence, and runs along beside the swimming pool. Lucy and Annabelle are on full alert.

Miss Suzy is fat and very busy. Maybe Texas will actually have a winter this year.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Don’t Forget to Remember Me, Carrie Underwood

…she could see a million stars, the wind blew gently and rocked the tree like a cradle…Miss Suzy was very happy once more.

inside cover, a bit loved:)
can you see above Miss Suzy’s head, the letters BAT written
in pencil, erased, but still there…

The Calm, the Storm and the Wolverine

September 6, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Leaving Fayetteville yesterday morning, a cloud burst over me. The rain pelted down hard enough to wash the sticky tree sap and smeared travel bugs from my windshield. At the same time, the sun flooded in from the East. A sunshower. The devil was beating his wife. Who did the devil marry? I’m not sure I ever learned this in Sunday School.

Behind me, an amazing double rainbow. Beyond the interstate, in the lowest point of the valley, the rainbow seemed to end at an old white barn, the blurry colors filtered around the roof. I always knew barns were special. I wondered if there was a pot of gold inside?

For a split second I thought about chasing the rainbow, trying to drive down the mountainside. Instead, I veered off at the next exit to snap a quick picture. This slight break in the drive was enough to upset Lucy and Annabelle. They thought we were already back in Dallas. Even so, the disruption was worth the stop.

Back on the road toward Fort Smith, Annabelle was extremely restless, whining and trembling. At this rate, a long drive home. Clearly, she wanted to see that pot of gold.

I was still thinking about that rainbow, feeling a bit sad to leave Arkansas. Was it a sign we were driving in the wrong direction? No time to wallow in this nostalgia. The moment we drove into Oklahoma, Annabelle projectile vomited from her backseat crate onto my arm, the floor board and the bottom of her crate cushion. Linda-Blair-head-spinning-chunky-dog-puke.

Pawn Shop, Vian, Ok

Suddenly I found myself in Vian, Oklahoma, in an empty parking lot wedged between Big Pawn (We Buy Gold) and ShortStop (Home of the Bar-b–que Train). One ironic, both sketchy. Directly across the highway, the Vian High School Marching Wolverine Band held an early morning practice. With only about twenty-five band members, the music sounded surprisingly decent. I love a good marching band and easily recognized Proud Mary. Singing along I cleaned dog puke from every crease and crevice of myself and my car with a dry Wet One. Annabelle appeared tired and weak. Lucy was simply embarrassed.

During this Oklahoma out-of-body experience, I realized…. I already have my pot of gold.

And I also thought…. I have no earthly idea what a Wolverine is.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Proud Mary – Creedence Clearwater Revival

Have You Ever Seen the Rain? – Creedence Clearwater Revival

The wolverine, pronounced /ˈwʊlvəriːn/, Gulo gulo (Gulo is Latin for “glutton”), also referred to as glutton, carcajou, skunk bear, or quickhatch, is the largest land-dwelling species of the family Mustelidae. (Wikipedia)

clear as mud….

Morning Dew

September 5, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Lucy and Annabelle

How can two kids be so different? Raised in the same household. Same bloodline… Must be the birth order thing.

Lucy

Lucy, the oldest, is thoughtful, reflective, serious, stubborn. She wants what she wants.

Annabelle is happy go lucky, waking each day in a new bright shiny world. She’s energetic, goofy, still a puppy.

Annabelle

Together they are spoiled rotten (my fault) with too much energy (they came that way). I need a dog whisperer.

Fayetteville is the perfect place for them…a grassy back yard with easy access, large enough to run and play and chase each other. This week, however, each morning we awake to a heavy dew, hanging on to each blade like drops of mercury, glistening. The grass is coated until lunchtime, turning the dogs into muddy piglets who trounce on the bed with no warning. I have washed the linens three times this week.

I’m slow, but I’ve finally learned my lesson. This morning at sunrise we went on a long walk to avoid the wet back yard. The sunrise over Mt. Sequoyah was glorious and would have been quite peaceful if the dogs weren’t with me. Annabelle strains on the leash pulling my shoulder out of joint. She has the strength of a Siberian Husky and will be pulling me in a sleigh through the Ozark Mountains this winter. Lucy reluctantly drags behind us on her haunches like a mule. We lug her along with sparks nearly flying from beneath her paws as they scrape on the sidewalk. We look ridiculous.

Annabelle is Tigger, bouncy trouncy flouncy pouncy, fun! fun! fun! fun! fun! Lucy is Eeyore, plodding and sniffing, willfully going at her own pace. Together they stretch my arms in opposite directions. And my arm with shingles is screaming!

Finally back home I ignore their constant badgering for an hour until I give up and give in. If only I could sit them in front of the flat screen with Dora the Explorer…

They manage to stay off the wet lawn, by entertaining themselves behind the garage. I know this is bad. I will pay later, but cherish this time with my computer and coffee.

Mistake.

Annabelle is chewing on something. A toy, a ball? Of course not. She has unearthed an otherworldly root the size of a softball, a cross between a yellow onion and a turnip, soured and nasty. Possibly the most vile smelling funk I have ever whiffed.